For years, the biggest mystery in heavy metal has been the identity of Ghost vocalist Papa Emeritus. Ghost burst upon the scene in 2010 to rave reviews from metal fans everywhere (including an endorsement from one-time Presidential candidate Sarah Palin). However, up until this point the band has been highly guarded about their identity, never appearing without their trademark corpse paint and hoods in public and forcing interviewers to be blindfolded and driven seven hours to a cave in an undisclosed part of New Mexico to do interviews.
However, our staff of investigative reporters at Tyranny of Tradition has uncovered exclusive documents proving, without a shadow of a doubt, that Ghost’s enigmatic front man is actually former Geto Boys rap sensation Bushwick Bill. The documents, which were passed to one of our reporters in an underground garage by a high level government official who went by the fictional name “John Holmes”, show tax returns filed by the band for the past two years along with handwriting samples from checks supposedly written by Papa Emeritus that, when analyzed by the CIA, appear to have been signed by Bushwick Bill. Included with these documents was a DNA sample taken off of Papa Emeritus’ fake Pope hat by FBI agents while it was at a dry cleaners in Provo, Utah that is close to matching the DNA of the rapper.
The Jamaican born Bushwick Bill, whose real name is Dr. Wolfgang Von Bushwickin the Barbarian Mother Funky Stay High Dollar Billstir, has had a checkered past that included being shot in the eye by his girlfriend, nearly being deported for a drug arrest, and penning the script to Superbabies: Baby Geniuses II. He had all but disappeared from the public eye after a short tenure as the backup point guard for the Sacramento Kings during the 2008-09 season. According to a source close to the band, it was about this time that Bill devised his plan to start the band Ghost.
Few people suspected the diminutive 3 foot 8 rapper of being the singer from Ghost because of his strongly held religious beliefs. Bill became a born-again Christian back in 2006. Ghost’s over-the-top satanic imagery and hedonistic lyrics seemed a poor match for the rapper’s monastic lifestyle. Credible press reports had even surfaced that several other people were Papa Emeritus including actor Phillip Seymour Hoffman, former Knicks Center Patrick Ewing and Def Leppard drummer Rick Allen. However, these reports were fabrications created by the band in order to throw the press off of Bushwick Bill’s trail.
(The Dissection of The Soul In Three Parts)
Bethlehem, Pennsylvannia-How much would you pay for the soul of a 5 million year old man? 10 million dollars? 20 million? 100 million? What about a billion dollars? 10 billion dollars? 100 billion dollars? A trillion dollars???
Would you give up the pinky finger on your left hand? What about your right pineal gland? Would you watch every episode of the television show Manimal? Would you become a cannibal who injects himself with Dianabol? Would you sell your children to a band of angry Saudis? Would you trade in your mother for three broken down Audis? Would you endure an hour-long attack from ravenous dogs? Would you reprise Ray Milland’s role in the movie Frogs? Would you trade dentures with Martha Raye? Would you spend Father’s Day with Marvin Gaye? Would you elope with an antelope? What about a cantaloupe?
Billionaire heiress Angelina Corpsegrinder did just that. Corpsegrinder, the granddaughter of former President John F. Corpsegrinder, purchased the soul at a nearly incalculable price at an auction on Friday outbidding thousands of lustful members of the American aristocracy. Corpsegrinder now has, within her beady little hands, possession of the one object that proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that God not only exists, but also intends us to hear his outrageous and inconsistent demands.
Encased in glass in case of loss, this abandoned soul sits in a vault, collecting interest at nearly 8 percent. Corpsegrinder has had the soul examined by thousands of religious icons and hundreds of other idle idols of the breathing class. Their findings all point to one inescapable fact, that people, given the correct amount of compensation and fearing for the devaluation of their name and the deflation of their credibility, will say anything to remain unforgotten by strangers. That we are conspiring against all logic and pinning our dreams and hopes upon an empty vessel is not important, what is important is that the conspiracy continues to hold true no matter how vengefully its core fiction has been used.
Thousands have filed past a replica of this soul in the Museum of Spirit, Fellowship and Other Inane Cruelties. For years, it was thought that this replica was the only soul alive in captivity. Many believed that, in nearly every case, when one expired, the soul passed into another realm leaving only a husk of body in some embarrassing pose. And teeth. Now, thanks to the generous nature of those who possess most of the world’s resources, we can rest assured that a real soul exists.
The soul originally belonged to a Neanderthal named Arnold Mulligan. In his haste to consume the flesh of a recently slaughtered pig, Mulligan’s soul fell out of his body and fell into a tar pit somewhere south of Tupelo, Mississippi. After being discovered some years back, the soul was passed to different collectors in high stakes poker games. It eventually fell into the clutches of former Presidential candidate Adali Stevenson and has languished in a coffee can in his basement since 1964. But, that is not important. Who needs chain of evidence when there isn’t even the evidence of a chain?
Finally, a pawnbroker from Jamaica, Queens named Arthur Leo Sclerosis slumped into the vault and examined the artifact. It was elliptical. No bigger than a marble. It had been poked and prodded by the finest pokers and prodders on this planet. Its verification had been peer reviewed by peers and reviewers who had all made tenure at the finest educational slaughterhouses on the planet. They had stood in line for hours to see it, all seeking to be part of a truth that, as keepers of truth, they were free to invent. Some of them, the rebels, tried to destroy it, but Plato had told them long ago that it couldn’t be destroyed, so they stopped.
Sclerosis didn’t care. He was dying and had the freedom that only the truly condemned and utterly forgotten can ever gain. His body, ravaged by disease and disrepair, crawled towards the altar upon which the soul had been placed. He made several silly motions with his hands to confuse the guards into thinking he was part of a group of fiction providers larger than himself, then he dove face first into the case, shattering the shatterproof glass and freeing the soul from the most recent in its series of cells.
The alarms sounded. Everyone on earth froze and locked their eyes upon him. Were it destroyed, they’d have to go back to having faith in something implausibly stupid. Were it destroyed, the whole edifice would plunge headlong into a nothingness of materials careening off one another and going nowhere in particular for an undetermined period of meaningless time. Were it destroyed, they’d have to accept the possibility that God or whatever creative force begat us from Its stomach was cruel enough to simply leave us in the middle of an endless wilderness of despair with no map to get home. Were it destroyed, they might look in the mirror and come face to face with a walking pile of animated flesh killing time between now and when its life functions had ceased.
“Please…we beg you! Leave us at least the illusion of stability in this demented nightmare of an existence!!!!” they cried in unison.
He held it aloft for all to see. “This,” declared Sclerosis “is nothing more than an M & M!!!!!”
He popped it into his mouth, chewed and swallowed. He died at that moment, for no other reason than his heart stopped beating.
People were aghast! So little truth had flashed before their eyes since religion adopted the game show format in the 1950s that this mockery of their very existence flung them into an orgiastic fit of rage. Still…there was something to this. After all, this was an experience they had just experienced. An event. A happening. A thing. They were all a part of it. Suddenly and without warning, the guards draped an American flag over the former man’s lifeless body and hoisted him on their shoulders as if he had just scored the game-winning touchdown in a championship football game.
“HE………IS………..RISEN!!!!!” they shouted in unison.
Everyone went back to work.
Hipsters. Let’s face it. They are everywhere. They bring us our mail. They fix our cars. They babysit our kids. They diagnose our viruses. They run some of our Fortune 500 companies. Some have even labeled Barack Obama “The First Hipster President” (or “Hipster-In-Chief).
These latte chugging, MacBook owning quislings have infiltrated the cracks of modern American life and, like Canadians, are often able to hide in plain sight, undetected by those who wish to keep us safe. In spite of the fact that The Department of Homeland Security has invested over 100 billion dollars in advanced hipster detection systems, to date, not one actual hipster has been detained or even tortured.
The problem of hipster detection is a tricky one. Much of our society has taken on the trappings of hipster culture, so it is now nearly impossible to locate a hipster in a place where they should obviously stand out, like a Travis Tritt concert or a meeting of your local NRA chapter.
The really difficult part is that hipster culture is based on a bizarre phenomenon known as “hipster denial”. A critical component of being a hipster is pretending to be unaware that you are a hipster. In some cases, hipsters can be contaminated with the hipster virus and not even know they are transmitting their hipsterness to those around them. The minute a hipster admits to their hipsterness, the hipster spell is broken and the beast becomes human again. But….how do you fight an enemy that is invisible even to himself???
Luckily, researchers at The Tyranny of Tradition Institute in Zalaegerszeg, Hungary has spent years perfecting a formula that can, once and for all, identify the difference between a hipster and a good American. By simply completing this standard interest inventory, in five minutes you can know if YOU are a hipster. The rules are simple. Add up the point values of each of the following things that apply to you. If your score is over 100, turn yourself in for processing immediately…you are a hipster. If you score below 100, it is safe to continue engaging in normal human practices like the consumption of food or the procreation of the species.
Own a pair of “Buddy Holly” glasses? 30 points
Own a pair of skinny jeans? 30 points
Wear a Hawaiian shirt more than once a month? 40 points
Wear headbands when you are not playing basketball or running? 40 points
Have an Instagram account? 20 points
Have a tumblr? 20 points
Use Spotify? 5 points
Wear tee shirts of products you do not use (i.e. Spam)? 20 points
Spend more than 20 dollars on a haircut in an attempt to make your haircut look like it cost less than 20 dollars? 30 points
Wonder if certain things are “hipster or not hipster”? 20 points
Wear tee shirts featuring long lost forgotten cultural icons (i.e. The Smurfs, The Fonz, Balki from Perfect Strangers)? 50 points
Own at least one album by Band of Horses, TV on The Radio or My Morning Jacket? 30 points
Try to figure out what dubstep versions of 80′s TV theme songs would sound like? 35 points
Have a favorite superhero? 20 points
Talk about dinosaurs ironically? 20 points
Hate Hipsters? 100 points (all true hipsters hate hipsters, it’s the only surefire proof of hipsterism)
Wear suspenders with a tee shirt? 20 points
Compare people to Banksy or Chuch Palahniuk? 15 points
Spend more than 15 minutes a day discussing hipsters? 20 points
Spend time making up mathematical formulas about hipsters? 20 points
Have conversations about what it would be like if one cultural icon lived in the environment of another (i.e. “Wouldn’t it be weird if the Transformers were in Citizen Kane”?) 10 points
Refer to your band as being “post-“? 15 points
Think about naming one of your children after a Moby song? 10 points
Secretly admire Bono? 20 points
Catch yourself thinking “I wish I worked in a bike shop”? 10 points
Wear one of those stupid hipster hats? 20 points
What if you suspect someone is a hipster and can’t get them to fill out the survey?
Unfortunately, due to some questionable misinterpretations of the Constitution, you cannot legally hold someone in your basement, tie them up and force him or her to answer questions because you believe they are a hipster. You might have to determine their hipsterness in a span of seconds (this is often referred to by law enforcement officers as a “Hipster Terry Stop”). If you are only given a short window of time to identify one, you can use this simple joke in order to catch them. If they laugh, they are guilty of being a hipster. If they do not, you are safe and can take your hands off of the accused hipster’s throat.
You: How many hipsters does it take to screw in a light bulb?
Potential Hipster: I dunno
This method is only about 89 percent effective, but if you are in a pinch and lives are on the line, it might just be the difference between your whole neighborhood starting to look like a Hello Kitty Store and you being able to incapacitate the hipster, shove him or her in the trunk of your car and dump them in a nearby lake. These are the times that try men’s souls. I know you will choose wisely.
While many reviewers and enraged Megadeth fans have panned the new single “Supercollider”, one man has taken his criticism a step further. Dr. Josef Kranken, a researcher recently fired from the Monsanto Corporation, claims that, in a study conducted using one hundred volunteer 8-year-olds from a Phoenix elementary school, he has found evidence that repeated exposure to “Supercollider” could lead to inflammation of the liver consistent with the Hepatitis X virus.
Of the 50 children infected with the new Megadeth song, 46 of them developed symptoms within 3 to 5 hours. The other 50 students, who only listened to songs off of “Rust In Peace”, showed no immediate health issues and, in fact, scored higher on standardized tests the following day.
Up until recently, Hepatitis X was referred to as Hepatitis D. The virus changed its name during its conversion to Islam while in prison in 2010. It is best known for causing an enormous growth in the size of people’s ears and large, droopy sacks of skin to bulging from a person’s forehead. If not treated within 48 hours, it can lead to teeth growing out of the back of the victim’s neck.
This is not Dr. Kranken’s first foray into studying the health effects of heavy metal on human beings. He authored a paper two years called “The Great Radikult Syphilis Epidemic of 2011” where he forecast a major worldwide outbreak of syphilis due to Morbid Angel’s release of the album “IIud Divinum Insanus”. The study was debunked by several doctors, including noted Harvard immunologist Dr. Steven Copley, who went on to famously quip “the only possible way to catch a venereal disease listening to heavy metal is by standing too close to Vince Neil during a Motley Crue concert.”
Kranken, who graduated from University of Phoenix in 1979 with a degree in botanical psychology, was a top researcher for the Monsanto Corporation for over 20 years. He worked on some of Monsanto’s most infamous projects including the one that convinced the company to market Posilac (or rBST), a chemical that has been known to cause extreme suffering in cows. In his 1993 review of the effects of Posilac, he concluded that cows “might actually grow to enjoy the feeling of having gargantuan, swollen utters”. Monsanto fired Kranken in 2009 when he refused to work on a program designed to create 1000-pound flesh-eating rats for the Chinese military.
In the most ironic attack in recent memory, a 500-pound bat attacked Black Sabbath vocalist Ozzy Osbourne, severing his head clean off of his body during a show last night in Los Angeles. Black Sabbath, the metal band formerly fronted by metal legend Tony Martin, were performing the song “Headless Cross” when Ozzy was accosted and decapitated by the bat.
The bat, a mutant Eastern Tubenose indigenous to the Three Mile Island region of Pennsylvania, scrawled out the word “REVENGE” in Ozzy’s blood on the stage immediately after the attack. Police quickly apprehended the bat and are holding him in a steel box on 1 million dollars bail at Lompoc Federal Prison. The bat’s attorney Ken “Iron Head” Murphy has said that the bat will not make any comments until his 5 PM press conference tomorrow afternoon. However, a police officer who interrogated the bat claims that he bit off Ozzy’s head accidentally, thinking it was made of plastic.
Miraculously, in spite of no longer having a head, Ozzy is in excellent condition. He was unable to finish the concert, but has said he will solider on and not miss any other show dates. He was even seen playing touch football in the hospital courtyard with members of the band One Direction and former Falcon Crest Star Lorenzo Lamas. “I can’t said miss eleven quarter horse the whole enchilada, you know. On stage is where I glumfer and would never become a gorilla, at least not on purpose,” slurred Ozzy through a hole in his neck to a crowd of reporters outside of his hospital room.
Rumors have begun to swirl about a potential connection between the bat and Al-Qaeda. Supposedly, the bat had contacted other bats in a local cave about starting a “bat jihad” against infidels and vampire novelists who have been creating and enforcing negative stereotypes their species. The bat was carrying a journal at the time of his arrest that listed plans to carry out several attacks against high profile celebrities including Stephanie Meyer, author of the Twilight books, former Batman star Adam West and musician Meatloaf, who is best known for his bat-sploitation album “Bat Out of Hell”.
Meanwhile in Washington, several conservative talk radio hosts and Republican Congressmen have criticized President Obama for not referring to the bat beheading as a terrorist attack and immediately invading Transylvania. Obama’s response has instead been a more measured approach, authorizing Predator drone strikes on caves and belfries that harbor bats that might or might not be linked to terrorism.
(Whatever you do, when you get up to the counter, do not say the word “antlers”. You want a cup of water. This is McDonald’s. There are people in line behind you. They are anxious to get their McRibs or apple pies or whatever they came here for. Just say “Water, please”. That’s all. Don’t screw this….)
Woman Behind The Counter: Welcome to McDonald’s. How can I help you?
Woman: (with a quizzical, mildly amused look) Uhmm. How can I help you?
Me: (pleadingly) Antlersssssss…
Woman: (in a sacchariney sweet “oh, I get it, your trying to be funny and I’m trying to get through the day without choking a customer” voice) Ha. No sir, we don’t have antlers? Would you like a Quarter Pounder?
Me: (I swear, I’m trying to say “water”) Antlers…antlers, antlers…..aaaaaanttttlers.
Woman: (losing patience) Sir, we do not have antlers? What is it that you….
Me: (I have lost any control of my tone) ANTLERS!!!!!!!!
Woman: (looking frightened) Uhm. Sir, are you okay?
Me: Antlers? Antlers! Antlersantlersantlersantlers!!! ANT-LERS!!!!!
(The people in line behind me are growing more impatient. There is angry mumbling. People behind the counter are starting to pay attention)
Woman: (near tears) Sir, I’m going to have to go get the manager. I don’t understand…..
Me: Antlers!!!!! What part of antlers do you not understand???? ANTLERS!!!!
(The woman behind the counter turns and begins to walk towards the back of the kitchen)
Me: (Turning towards the gathering crowd behind me) Antlers!!!! All I want are some antlers! Antlers! I’m thirsty!!! Don’t you understand! Antlers!!!! Anyone….please!!!!
A large man in the line: (helpfully) Are you okay? Do you need some….assistance??
Me: I asked for antlers! Not a difficult request! Antlers! Antlers! Antlers! Am I not speaking English or something?
An elderly woman behind me in line: (slowly dipping her hand in her purse for either mace or a cellphone) I think that you are confused. Antlers are things that are on a deer’s head?
Her husband: Or an elk. Or a caribou. Or a…..
Me: Listen you ignorant mongrel! I came in here, I asked politely for antlers and these people are acting like I’m crazy. ANTLERS!!! You are trying to confuse me, but I’m not confused. I’m as clearheaded as I have ever been IN MY ENTIRE LIFE. I was born in New Rochelle Hospital! My mom’s maiden name is Czechlowski! I have green eyes! The 18th President was Ulysses S. Grant! ANTLERS!!!!
(The enormous manager comes out from behind the counter with a menacing look. He puts his hand on my shoulder. I spin around and glare at him. His name tag reads “Timothy”)
Manager: Sir, I’m going to have to ask….
Me: ANTLERS! Listen you burger flipping, fry shoveling fascist! I made a simple request. I asked for….
Manager: (sternly) You are going to have to…..
Me: NO!!! I will not be silent in the face of tyranny! I will not wilt in the face of oppression! I will not change my order!!! I will not stand mutely as you ignore my desideratum!!!! You will not press down upon my brow with this crown of French fries!!!! You will not crucify me upon an arch of gold!!!!!!
Manager: (looking towards the kitchen) Somebody needs to call the police. CALL THE POLICE!!!! (looking at me) Sir, if you do not calm down you are going to be arrested. Please…CALM DOWN!!!!
Me: Calm down!!! Don’t tell me to calm down. Don’t you understand!!! Antlers….you mindless chromosome deficient mongoloid! Antlers are all I wanted! ANTLERS!!!!! The world is falling apart! The ice caps are melting! Small microbes are currently circulating through this room AS WE SPEAK that have the power to kill us all! I just want some ANTLERS!!!!
Manager: (trying to hold in his fury) Okay….OKAY….we don’t have any antlers? Is there anything….ANYTHING….else we can get you?